Identity
by aMUSEment345
Summary: Post-ep 12X22, 'Red Light'. Short shot, several chapters, each with a different POV.
1. Chapter 1

_**A.N. Post-ep 12X22, 'Red Light'. This one will be in multiple parts, from different points of view.**_

* * *

 _ **Identity**_

 _ **Chapter One-JJ**_

It had been instinctive, asking for Emily to take the call off speaker. Defensive. An act of protection.

 _Not like you needed it_ , JJ thought to herself as she looked at the figure of her best friend, stretched out on the long bench of the jet. _Not like you needed me at all. You had this all along._

She knew he would argue that point, because he already had. She'd made the same observation after they'd boarded the jet. It had been such a strange time-out-of-time, they'd both been a little giddy, floating in the first moments of freedom from the seemingly insurmountable tensions of the past few months. Reid had been exonerated, the deprivation of prison was behind him, and Diana was alive, and safe. Whatever else remained….his status with the FBI, Diana's illness…. paled in comparison to what had already been defeated.

It would have felt like a moment of exhilaration, and celebration, if what had come before hadn't cost him so much.

JJ had undergone a moment of epiphany a few hours ago, seeing Reid collapsed in misery in the hallway. She'd come to realize the true price exacted by his time in prison. It hadn't been the constant state of terror and the fear of the unknown. It hadn't been the humiliation and the isolation from all he held dear. It hadn't even been the reality of the assaults he'd suffered, nor the death of his friend. It had been his _own_ death. The death of the person of Spencer Reid, and the rise of the 'someone else' inhabiting his skin.

She'd been taken aback by it, to see it in his posture….for his posture had been all he'd shown her, then. He'd refused to give her his eyes. He'd told her earlier, on the plane, that he felt changed, that he was no longer who he once had been. She hadn't quite understood that, though she'd told him she did. But it had frightened her, the thought of losing him, even while his blood still pulsed through his body. They'd been too close, and a change in his identity would inevitably lead to a change in hers, because she defined herself, in part, by her relationship with him.

"I'm scared that this is who I am now," he'd said.

She'd just witnessed him exploding at Cat, seemingly prepared to choke the woman, if JJ hadn't pulled him away. She'd thought he was talking about that, until he'd brought it back to prison.

"Jennifer, you don't know…."

 _Jennifer_. He'd called her that the first time she'd met him, in his too-formal way. And only rarely, since. One time stood out in both of their memories, and it came back to her now.

 _Is he angry with me? Have I overstepped, telling him I understand?_

And then she realized. He wasn't angry. He was frightened. She'd seen him at his worst, just before, in the interrogation room. He was afraid she might reject this new 'him', and he was already putting distance between them as a means of self-protection. So she made sure to close the distance swiftly and surely, by placing herself _with_ him.

The team had learned about the poisoning of the other inmates, and they'd surmised that he'd been behind it. They'd also surmised that he wouldn't or couldn't admit it. But they also, all of his old friends, knew it was less from fear of what they would think, than it was because he couldn't forgive himself for it. JJ made the leap with him. He'd knowingly hurt others, and he'd just barely avoided killing Cat. _She'd_ been frightened in that moment. But she was more frightened now, to see him owning these two acts as though they were inscribed into his newly defective DNA.

"You only did what you had to do to survive. Anyone would have done the same."

" _You_ wouldn't have."

"Yes, Spence, I would have. To save my life, or the life of someone I love….yes, I would have. It doesn't make you a psychopath. It doesn't make you like _them_. You know who thinks that? She does!"

Two words, and they'd known, immediately. _That_ was what Cat wanted him to admit. That he was not her better. It was true he'd bested her at her own game the last time they'd met. But to best her in _this_ game, he would have to admit that, at his core, he was no better than she was. That his soul was as blackened and deformed as hers.

Reid's synapses had fired at very near their usual lightning speed, as he'd considered his options. JJ was right, what he had done hadn't made him a psychopath. He hadn't enjoyed it. But Cat didn't know that. Whoever had served as her mole in Milburn had only been able to tell her _what_ he'd done. But the mole would have had no way to know what had gone on inside Reid's head. He couldn't know that Reid had taken no pleasure in it Unless…

Unless the guard who had taken his journal from him had somehow gotten the information to Cat. Reid tried to consider the permutations of that possibility, but his weary brain wasn't quite up to it, and there was no time to lose. There was nothing to be done about it, he would have to take the chance.

Had they not been in the situation they were in, JJ would have smiled, to see the familiar look of intellectual triumph in her best friend's eyes, as he instantaneously put together a plan to foil his nemesis, and set off to implement it. Just moments after mourning the loss of his identity, he'd seemed to have reclaimed it. She wasn't fool enough to think his internal crisis had been permanently resolved, but she was determined not to feed it. She hadn't been about to have the others hear him cast aspersions upon himself, even if he truly believed them. So she'd told them that he would be playing along with Cat, that they might hear him admit to certain things, or say things that sounded crazy, to which they should pay no mind.

 _But I will. Because I know you too well, Spence. There's always a kernel of truth there. If it will help me help you, I'm going to find it._

She'd listened in, along with the others. He'd admitted what he'd done to the drug runners. He'd enjoyed it, he'd said. He'd described himself in terms that painted him as a psychopath. Watching Cat's face, JJ had been repulsed to see the woman excited… _.sexually_ excited…by what Reid was telling her. But as repulsive as it had been, it had also been effective. Cat had made one final effort to come out on top, by demanding that Lyndsey kill Diana as Reid listened in. But, by then the team had arrived and profiled Lyndsey on the spot, and convinced her not to cooperate. Diana had been saved. Reid had won. It _should_ have felt triumphant.

#####

The images of that moment were once again replaced in JJ's mind by the real-time image of her best friend lying asleep, an all-too-brief respite from what had come before, and what was to come after. For she knew that, while he'd won the life of his mother, it was only for the moment, and only from the talons of Cat Adams and Lyndsey Vaughn. Diana's illness would claim her, but not until after it had claimed her memory, her motherhood, and his sonship. Reid had already been in a state of constant stress, even before his trip to Mexico. He would be returning to it now.

The only thing they knew for certain was that Diana was physically well, and that Reid would be united with her. What her ordeal had done to her would probably only become evident in the days and weeks to come. What _Reid's_ ordeal had done to _him_ , was already emerging.

JJ had seen the initial effects of it even as the events had unfolded. She'd seen more in his behavior on the jet, as they'd traveled to the prison holding Cat. And, because of what she'd already seen, she had protected him from showing it to the rest.

 _It's stupid, I know. We're a team of profilers. They'll see it in an instant. They probably even anticipate it. But it would hurt him, and he's already been hurt enough. Far more than enough._

So, despite the fact that she could have had the team listen in to the entirety of Reid's interaction with Cat, JJ hadn't suggested it. She also hadn't suggested that Garcia tap into the camera in the interrogation room, hadn't offered to keep them on speaker after the explosion they'd all heard over Lyndsey's phone. JJ had been afraid for Reid, not for what Cat Adams could do to him physically, but for what she could do to him emotionally. For what _Reid_ might do to _himself,_ emotionally. And she didn't think he would benefit from the rest knowing.

So she'd set herself up as the go-between, the in-room witness, the visible, present, support for her best friend. They'd both anticipated Cat demanding that she leave, and she had. But she'd continued to watch and listen from outside the room, still the lone witness. She alone had heard Cat tell Reid that she was pregnant, by him, via an act JJ still couldn't bring herself to think about. She alone had seen his reaction. She alone had seen him explode in anger at Cat, when the woman and her partner had feigned Diana's death at his inadvertent signal. She alone had seen him lay his hands on another person in uncontrolled rage. She alone had seen his horror at what he'd almost done.

She'd felt a need to protect him from himself, and from the scrutiny of the others. Feeling protective of her best friend was a familiar feeling. And yet, there had been something so unfamiliar about this time. He hadn't looked, nor acted, like someone in need of protection.

She'd seen him angry before. He'd even been angry with her. But she'd, literally, never seen him get physical about it. In some ways, it had frightened her just as much as it had him, because it signaled yet another way in which he had been changed. She had been relieved to see remorse follow quickly upon her pulling him away from Cat. And sickened to see that Cat looked as if she had enjoyed the experience.

As she'd told Stephen Walker, JJ had long seen the strength in her best friend. She'd long known the steel in his spine, his ability to stand up to ill will, or pain, or even just the vagaries of fate. Before tonight, she'd known it only as a character trait. But tonight, she'd seen its physical manifestation. Reid _was_ strong. He could have hurt Cat, or even killed her. But his sense of integrity was stronger. She was sure he would have stopped himself, if she'd not been there to stop him.

 _Right? He would have, right?_

The fact that her own brain had just posed that question to her brought her up short. Was it seeing something her heart couldn't admit? _Was_ he changed that much?

 _No! He wouldn't be so troubled by it, if he was really that different at his core. He's still in there. He just can't quite find himself right now. And neither can I._

She was worried about him, and worried about what his present state might mean to his future with the BAU. The team was at a crossroads, of sorts. Nearly half its members were new to it, and to each other. Professionalism allowed them to work together productively, even as they were still forming impressions of one another. But the work was dangerous, and they needed to be able to fully trust one another in the field. _That_ type of trust was built on a proven history of quick thinking, level-headedness, and focus.

The Reid that JJ knew possessed each of those traits. The one she'd seen trying to choke Cat Adams, the one who'd repeatedly told the woman he hated her, even as he had his hands wrapped around her neck, was not a man who would elicit the necessary trust from their new colleagues. _They_ would see someone who was driven by emotion, and whose recklessness could cost a life, possibly their own. If Reid was going to be able to return to the team, he would have to find his equilibrium first. He would have to be able to demonstrate it. He couldn't explode, as he had with Cat. However long it took, however difficult it would be to accomplish, he would have to heal, first.

The thought of him having to endure more isolation, more separation from the work that gave his life meaning, from the daily back-and-forth with the friends who were his family, saddened JJ. The enormity of what Cat Adams had done to Reid, the scope of the havoc she'd wreaked on his life, the devastation of it, the pain of it, melded together into one overpowering swell of grief and anger, and JJ felt the crushing weight of it. He'd been taken from everything that was familiar to him, everything that was precious, and thrown into a lions' den. He'd been assaulted, both physically and emotionally, forced into compromising his soul to preserve his life, and left, isolated and afraid, and without hope. He'd been minutes away from dying, or so he'd thought, terrified at what might have been done to his mother, and agonized at his inability to help her. And then Cat had tried to make it even worse, by announcing that he'd also been _sexually_ assaulted, heinously duped using the image his lost love, fathering a child with the one woman in the world whom he truly hated. Cat couldn't have known Reid's longing for a child. He'd only shared that with JJ. Yet, somehow, the woman had found that particular chink in his armor, and used it to pierce him in the heart.

It was her second night in a row without sleep, and JJ was exhausted, cold, sad, angry, grateful, worried, elated, frightened, uncertain. Exhaustion won the night, and she curled up across two of the seats, and closed her eyes. Anguish leaked through them, and dried upon her cheeks.

* * *

A change in air pressure awakened JJ, as the plane began its descent. A slight sensation of weight told her she'd been covered by a blanket, even before she opened her eyes to find Reid in the seat across from her, staring through the window.

"Hi."

He turned his gaze to her. "Hi."

Seeing the pensiveness in his features, she gave him an encouraging smile. There was so much to be pensive about, so much to unravel, so much to knit back together again. But they would be landing soon. Best not to look too far ahead just now. Best to look only as far as the BAU, and his reunion with his mother. With that in mind, JJ rose, and went into the lavatory, emerging with a glass of water and a hairbrush.

He eyed her implements of torture and groaned. "JJ…."

"Uh-uh. We're about to see your mother. You don't want to scare her, do you?"

"She's already seen me, remember? Besides, I think I might have to just shave it all off and start again…."

"Spencer Reid, come over here and sit in front of me." JJ patted the bench. Her heart filled with this taste of normalcy between them.

Reid knew when he was being mothered. Sometimes it bothered him. And sometimes it felt like a warm summer breeze. Tonight, the latter. He obediently repositioned himself next to her, giving her the back of his head.

"Don't do it too hard."

"All right, _Henry_."

"Henry's hair is straight. Mine is…."

"Yours is about to be brushed. Hold still."

So he did, and she carefully disentangled it from end to scalp, and then she dampened the brush and ran it all the way through, over and over, until she'd tamed it as much as it would be tamed. Peering over the top of his head, she was pleased to see his eyes closed, and his face relaxed. So she kept at it until the pilot advised them to position themselves for landing.

* * *

The trip in from the airport took place largely in silence. JJ couldn't know Reid's thoughts, but she could see that he needed to be with them. She could only surmise that he was trying to prepare himself for what he might encounter when the elevator doors opened at the BAU. They'd been told that Diana was physically unharmed, but it was only the two of them who were likely to be able to read anything about her emotional and mental states. And, really, it was only Reid who would know for certain the effects of what Cat had done to the woman who'd given him life.

They waited for the elevator in silence as well, JJ reaching over to rub gentle encouragement into his back. His hand caught hers, and squeezed it in thanks. As they rode up, approaching the sixth floor, she looked over and smiled at him. His lips remained set, but his eyes smiled back at her.

They'd done this ride a thousand times together. _Ten_ thousand. It felt achingly familiar, and yet not. JJ could only wonder, as she looked at her best friend, if it was because _he_ was achingly familiar, and yet not.

She watched him close his eyes in preparation, steeling himself for whatever state he would find Diana to be in. And then the doors opened, and Diana was there, standing in the midst of their friends. She hesitated a moment, as though uncertain. Then Emily said something to her, and she came forward, and stared into the eyes of her only child. If she hadn't recognized his face, she recognized his love. And she put her arms around him, and he around her, and they were a family again.

JJ knew that bond. She knew what it was like for a mother to love a son, and to be loved in return. She was familiar with the uniqueness of the relationship with each of her own sons, the knowing, the mutual nurturing and nourishing. The preciousness of it. The resilience of it. For, although the bond might be tested from time to time, although there might be periods of separation or even alienation, there was always a gravitation back to one another. That was the nature of true human relationship.

As she watched through moistened eyes, a thought struck JJ. She'd been worried about the effects of his ordeal on Reid. Still was, in fact, and would be, for some time to come.

 _But our relationship is still there. We're still friends. No matter what he's been through, no matter what he has to do to get back….no matter if he even wants to come back…..she didn't take that from us. She couldn't. And she had no idea._

She knew what Reid would tell her. That Cat had never known the love of a parent. That she'd never really experienced loss, because she'd never had anything to lose. That she was someone to be pitied, rather than someone to be hated. Even if he'd told her _he_ hated her, in a moment of anguish.

JJ wasn't so sure she could ever forgive Cat Adams, even if Reid somehow managed to. She wasn't sure she could ever pity her. But, unlike Cat, she _could_ walk away.

And bring her best friend with her.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Identity**_

 _ **Chapter 2—Emily Prentiss and David Rossi**_

 _It's over now, thank God. Just keep her from falling apart until you see those elevator doors open, and it will all be over._

Emily Prentiss held on to the trembling arm of Diana Reid, waiting for the arrival of the son from whom she'd been separated for far too long. Her mind rewound the story of the past four months, starting with a moment that had taken place only a few hours ago….

"Are you kidding me? Are you kidding?"

Knowing full well that JJ was not. Her friend and team member had taken them off speaker for a reason. Emily had been pleased to see that all of the others had respected the request, nary a questioning look on their faces. It had confirmed for her what she'd believed… _hoped_ , and believed to be true….that, although none of the new team members knew Reid as well as his long term colleagues did, they trusted the judgment of those colleagues. And, by extension, they trusted Spencer Reid. If he was to have a future with the team, Emily knew, that trust would be crucial.

JJ had just informed her that Cat Adams claimed to have vicariously raped Reid while he was drugged, and then become impregnated with his child. Both BAU women would have dismissed it as unthinkable, if only so many other 'unthinkable' things hadn't already happened. Still, Emily couldn't quite accomplish thinking about it. It was too outlandish, too humiliating, too 'unthinkable' to imagine. So her brain presented her with other, equally reprehensible, but more _com_ prehensible, options.

"Maybe it was whoever helped her from the inside." If so, it would offer Cat leverage against both that individual and, until the accusation could be disproven, against Reid.

The practical side of Emily Prentiss knew that she couldn't bear responsibility for all that had happened to Reid. He had, after all, decided on his own to go to Mexico. He had decided on his own not to share his plans with any of the others, nor to follow FBI protocol for foreign travel. But, still, Emily couldn't help feeling that she'd failed him, as both a unit chief and as a friend. And it seemed that she was still finding out just how extensive that failure had been.

She'd returned to the team under less than ideal circumstances. It was true that, over the past few years, she'd sometimes thought of returning to live in the States. She'd even thought that she might have enjoyed bringing her now well-hewn leadership skills back to the FBI, and even to the BAU. But she'd always thought it would happen under the tutelage of Aaron Hotchner. They'd stayed in touch for the entirety of her time with Interpol, free to allow the supervisor/supervisee relationship to blossom into a deep, trusting friendship. That she'd been brought back, not to work again with Hotch, but to replace him, had been a bitter form of irony.

She felt as though she'd not yet found her footing, having been thrust into the role so unexpectedly, and under such unnerving circumstances. Not only had Hotch not been there to mentor her, but it had been a very real threat against him and his son….and, possibly, against the entire team….that had brought it all about. There had been no time to reacquaint, no time to sort through old friendships and new hierarchical structures. Hotch had been gone, and Emily had replaced him, and she'd had to learn how to navigate her relationships and responsibilities on her own.

 _And look what happened. I should have reached out to him more. I should have been more of a friend, and less of a supervisor. I knew he was struggling with his mother. I saw how upset he was when he came to me. All I did was to tell him I was sorry, and give him permission to leave. I put it into his lap to stay in touch, because I was afraid I was too busy to remember. And, when he didn't, I didn't even notice, until I got that call…._

The one from Mexico. The one that had taken her brain nearly a full minute to process, even while her mouth had gone through the motions of asking for details, and her hands the motions of writing them down.

 _Spencer. Arrested. In Mexico. For stealing a car. And drugs._

She'd already been off the phone, and reading back her notations before it had sunk in. The trip that followed, the state he'd been in when they'd found him in that Mexican jail, the inconceivable adding on of a murder charge, had all become a blur to her. What stood out was her one foray into the civil disobedience she'd learned to espouse throughout her mother's diplomatic career. Emily had erased a recording of what could have been a damning statement made by Reid during his cognitive interview in Mexico.

 _I knew in my heart, then, the same thing I know in my head today, and what I was able to convince the judge …..that Spencer Reid is constitutionally, morally, ethically, spiritually, incapable of taking an innocent life. There was no way I was going to let some drug-addled recorded memory imply otherwise._

She could only have wished the ensuing weeks might have been disposed of as easily. Bringing Reid to the jail, _leaving_ him there, having the judge declare him held over for trial, had been bad enough. But then, to have had him moved to federal prison, to have to think of what that environment might be doing to him. To recognize what it _had_ done to him…

And now, maybe, something more. If Cat Adams had done what she'd claimed to have done, the woman had found a way to torture Reid into the rest of his life.

 _It can't be._ He _can't…. It can't be!_

The thought of how violated he would feel….must _already_ feel…. was enough to reactivate the dyspepsia that had become almost a constant companion since she'd returned to the BAU. Emily was thankful JJ had thought to take them off speaker. Whether or not this incomprehensible thing proved to be true, there was no need for any of the others….and especially those still coming to know him….to have to visualize it.

JJ had already declared her disbelief, and now Emily joined her. If Cat was really pregnant, if she hadn't somehow maneuvered a change in her health records, just as she'd obviously maneuvered a change in Reid's protection status, then the father must be someone else.

"It's _got_ to be whoever helped her inside the prison. She'd be able to leverage the pregnancy against the CO _and_ against Reid."

Reid had apparently come to the same conclusion, and brought it back to Cat. He'd somehow prompted Cat to call her accomplice, and thereby give them a location on Diana. Emily had listened in as Garcia had patched her through, and heard the shots, and then the explosion. And then... nothing.

 _Something_ had happened, not just wherever Diana was…had been…, but also at the prison, Emily was sure of it. The only evidence she'd had had been the long interval of silence, with nary a message nor phone call from JJ, until she'd called to tell them they would hear Reid talking nonsense. The others might have accepted it as merely a period of planning, but Emily's antennae had gone up immediately, when Reid's phone had gone silent, and remained so, as had JJ's.

They'd been her colleagues for far longer than they'd been her subordinates. She knew the rhythm of their work, and she knew the this virtual 'radio silence' had to mean something had gone on. She also knew that it was possible she would never learn what that 'something' was, not in her position as unit chief.

Of all of the strangeness of coming back to the BAU….the absence of Hotch, the occupation of his office, the mounds of paperwork and reports….it had been the hierarchical separation from her colleagues that had been the most difficult adjustment to make. It would certainly always be her risky prerogative to decide to 'forget' certain things that would be better off forgotten, but she also knew her friends wouldn't put her in that kind of situation. So she'd had to accept that she wouldn't always know all that was going on with her team members, wouldn't be able to share the same type of intimate friendship with them that she once had.

In the process of making the adjustment to her new role, and her new relationships with her old friends, she'd begun to better understand the steadfast reserve of Aaron Hotchner. She'd also begun to understand what she used to see as an annoying habit of playing by the rules, with 'judicious' rule-breaking in appropriate circumstances. Emily Prentiss, the BAU agent, would have gone rogue as soon as she'd heard her dear friend was in trouble in Mexico. To some degree, that rogue agent had held sway at the beginning of all of this. But, soon enough, Emily Prentiss, BAU Unit Chief, had been called into action.

With the news of Reid's unapproved crossings of the border, with his ineligibility for defense by the Bureau, the actions of the BAU had come under increased scrutiny. There had been no room for drawing attention by working on cases other than the ones they would normally take. She'd had to settle for vicarious surveillance of other agencies' activities, looking for signs of Scratch, and allowing some of her team to put in extra hours, without reaching a point of exhaustion.

Tending to Reid in prison had been another issue entirely, and one that had caused her deep angst. It had been difficult enough to find a way to leave an insistent JJ behind for a single case, just to visit Reid. After that, Emily had caught flak, and subsequently had to arrange for the others to catch up with the team in the field after _their_ sojourns to the prison. Fiona had been stymied at every attempt to get Reid moved to protective custody, and it hadn't been until Emily had directly confronted the warden that she'd realized there'd been ongoing interference from above. She'd taken up a mantra of chastisement, angry with herself for not having gone to the warden sooner.

 _Not that it would have made a difference. But at least I would have known. There is someone else who wanted Reid in the general population. Someone else who leaked information from his FBI file. We have a mole in our midst, and I'm going to find out who it is._

But that would have to wait. All she wanted to concentrate on right now was the imminent reunion of a mother and son who'd been separated for far too long, and who had been put through far too much. Today, that would all come to an end. Today was a _good_ day.

This hour was a _good_ hour.

* * *

As he stood with the group in front of the elevator, David Rossi watched the succession of emotions showing themselves on his unit chief's face. It was still a little difficult for him to think of the words 'unit chief' without conjuring _another_ face first, the face of one of his best friends. But he was quite certain Hotch would be proud of how Emily had handled the transition, even if he was equally certain that the man would have wanted to be present for it.

 _I thought we were close, Aaron. Right up until today, I thought this was Scratch. I thought we'd be able to bring you back._

But it _hadn't_ been Scratch, and Hotch and his son were still, theoretically at least, in danger. That's how the FBI saw it. Theoretically. Not definitively. It had only been because of the prior encounter between the two men that the Bureau higher-ups had even considered witness protection for the Hotchners. Hotch, Rossi, and later, Emily Prentiss, had all argued the case for the rest of the team being at risk as well. They felt certain Scratch was behind the near-fatal incident with the brother of Tara Lewis. Until today, they'd also thought he was behind the murder of Nadie Ramos, the framing of Spencer Reid, and the subsequent abduction of his mother.

Without definitive proof of danger, however, the FBI had rescinded the protection details on the homes and families of the BAU members. The fact that Reid's tormentor had proven to be someone else, would affirm that decision. That particular situation had come into play a few hours ago, when Rossi had been approached by his 'new' unit chief.

"Do you have any contacts that can get him into a safe home or somewhere? He can't take her back to his apartment, it's still a crime scene. I don't think they'll be done processing for another twenty-four hours or more."

He'd forgotten. "That's right. Not to mention, we don't know what happened to her there, when she was alone with Lyndsey. It might be too traumatic. Might trigger something."

"Exactly. But I don't want to just send them to a hotel. She could wander off, and that's the last thing we need. I've asked for a detail for them, but I was told that, since Lyndsey and Cat are both in custody, there's no longer considered to be any specific danger to them."

Rossi nodded, understanding. "Because the only specific danger might be Scratch, and they're not protecting anyone on the team right now." Anyone _still_ on the team.

" _And_ because we were wrong about him. I've already gotten an earful about not looking for Scratch around every corner. So, what do I do? I mean, _we_ can stand detail, if they go to a hotel, but then I'll have a team that's falling asleep in the middle of our next case."

Rossi stroked his goatee. "Hmm. I've always figured there had to be a good reason why I live alone in a mansion. Now I know. I can give them a whole wing, so it will be private for them. Plus, there are security alarms all over the house. Even if she wanders, she won't get outside without one of us knowing."

A look of relief came over Emily's face. "Really?" Then, not giving him a moment to change his mind, she added, "It's a deal."

Rossi smiled. "It's the least I can do."

 _Definitely more effective than nailing a giant 'W' to my wall._

Emily caught the deeper meaning in Rossi's tone. She knew he'd been as frustrated as she about the team's inability to move Reid's case forward. He'd been especially concerned about the young man after having visited him at the prison. It had been Rossi who'd deduced that Reid had committed some act that weighed heavily upon him. He'd told her that he'd recognized the hauntedness in Reid's eyes, having seen it so often in the mirror during his own days in Vietnam.

Unlike Reid, Rossi had come home to a supportive extended family. Even if he'd kept them at arms' length…..or beyond, if he was honest…..he'd known they were there. But Reid was coming home to the same fragile family situation that had provided the original opportunity to his tormentor.

Not for the first time, Rossi cursed the cowardice of William Reid, who should have been there to support his son, and his complexly ill wife. And, not for the first time, Rossi felt the propensity to serve as a stand-in. He'd long since come to respect his young genius colleague, not just for what he could do, but for his strength of character, his compassion, and his unfailing integrity.

 _If I had a son…..if I'd been allowed to raise_ my _son….this is who I hope he would have grown up to be. If that had happened, I would be one proud papa._

Rossi had met Diana Reid on two occasions. Years ago, in Las Vegas, she'd been relatively clear-headed. As her son had explained, she'd been in that precious window of time between when her medication levels were low enough not to flatten her, and when her illness would resume its inexorable domination of her mind. She'd not exactly been charming in that first meeting, but clearly intelligent and fiercely maternal.

This evening, she'd been found bound, her mouth taped over to muffle her screams. Even in the moment of her rescue, she'd been terrified, not understanding that the people surrounding her with guns drawn were there to save her, and not to kill her. She'd been unmedicated for days, giving her paranoia free rein over her thoughts. It had taken Tara Lewis to talk her down, and Savannah Morgan to use her old DC-area contacts to track down Diana's prescriptions and get her back on her meds. Despite that, the woman stood among them, stiff and curled in upon herself, lost in whatever prison her thoughts had consigned her to, waiting….waiting….waiting….for the sound of the elevator, carrying precious cargo.

JJ had texted from the lobby. They were on their way up. Six sets of eyes moved back and forth between the frightened civilian in their midst, and the lighted sequence of numbers indicating the status of the elevator car. The seventh set remained fixated on the doors, their owner apprehensive, expectant, confused. Diana stared forward, seemingly into space.

 _And_ _time,_ thought Rossi. _She's lost in time._

Finally, the doors opened, to reveal one of the most welcome sights the BAU founder could remember: Spencer Reid, clad in a suit jacket and his trademark loose-fitting tie, his hair more disheveled than usual, his usually pristine features covered in scruff, exhaustion etched into his face. Like his mother, he too wore a look of apprehension, but there was new light in his eyes. Blessedly, the prison blues were gone, there were no restraints on his wrists, and his gait was no longer shuffled. If all of that hadn't given away the welcome change in the young man's status, the beaming smile on the face of the young woman next to him would have. JJ stepped out of the elevator just behind her best friend.

Diana hadn't moved. Her gaze was glued to her son's face, her hands clasped protectively in front of her. She looked as though she dare not believe her eyes. Considering the current condition of her mind, Rossi thought, it was understandable. He was glad to see that Emily realized as well, and listened as she spoke into Diana's ear.

"Spencer's here," she said. _He's real._

The words seemed to break the spell holding Diana in place, and she moved forward, and into the open arms of her son. The two held one another tightly, as their onlookers each blinked something from their eyes.

Rossi took a quick visual survey of his colleagues, old and new, and saw each of them raptly engaged with the scene before them. He smiled to himself as he thought back over his decades of experience with the FBI.

 _I wonder if they realize how rare this is_ , he thought. _I wonder if they realize how infrequently they'll get to see this. I wonder if they even realize what they're looking at._

But he knew exactly what it was.

 _The reason we do this._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Identity**_

 _ **Chapter 3-Derek Morgan**_

He wasn't all that much surprised by his reaction to being left behind. He had, after all, left the BAU with mixed feelings. He'd valued the work like no other, but the job had already put his son through too much, even before he'd been born. There simply had been no other decision to make. He'd loved Savannah all the more for not pushing him. But there'd been nothing he could really do, but to walk away from the action.

Being this close to it again, knowing his former colleagues were setting out to take down the man who'd targeted Aaron Hotchner, he'd been sorely tempted. But he was a civilian now. Even if he'd been able to overcome his own resolve to put his family first, there was no avenue for him to be involved. All he really _could_ do, was to see to his traumatized old friend. His erstwhile partner. His brother.

In some ways, he was performing a service to the team. He knew how worried they all must be about Reid, because he was, too. That Scratch was pulling them away from rallying around their newly freed teammate would be grating to each of them. It had to ease their minds that Reid wouldn't be alone.

But that wasn't why Morgan was on his way to Rossi's. Despite what he'd told Emily Prentiss…no need to get Baby Girl in trouble….he'd already known about Reid. He'd heard it months ago, when Garcia had been constitutionally unable to keep from telling him that her 'beloved junior GI man' had been wrongfully imprisoned. Morgan had been so thrown by her phone call that he'd called her back to be sure it hadn't been some kind of prank.

Once he'd absorbed the information, Morgan's first impulse had been to ignore the fact the Reid didn't want him to know. He'd decided he would ask for an audience with the judge, or the warden, or anyone who could tell him exactly why an innocent Spencer Reid was in prison, fearing for his life while left in with the general population with a hundred men who would delight in torturing, or even killing, a fed. He'd planned to demand a visit with Reid, to see for himself the state of the man whose friendship had become so precious a part of his life.

He'd planned all of these things without really planning them. They'd all been impulses, brought on by his 'innate desire to protect all those whom he loved'. Those had been the words Savannah had used, when she'd made him talk it through with her.

"You love Spencer like a brother, and you know him to his core. You know he couldn't have done what they've said he's done. I get that, and I agree with you. But you need to respect his wishes, Derek. He doesn't want you to know about it. He's humiliated to be in there. He doesn't want you to see him like that. Surely you can relate to that."

He knew what she was talking about. He'd shared it with her, in a moment that had convinced him that she was 'the One'. He'd found himself telling her about having been arrested for murder, and having had to admit to the whole team the humiliation of his childhood, at the hands of Carl Buford. He hadn't even planned it, but they'd been in a deep conversation, and he'd heard the words coming out of his mouth, words he'd never uttered to another woman, and he'd known.

 _She draws the worst from me, and turns it around. I need this woman in my life, forever._

So, he _did_ relate to the humiliation Reid must be feeling. But he also related to something else.

"It's dangerous in there, Baby! Guys like Reid….they prey on them. It's not like they'll be intimidated by his size. All he's got going for him…."

"Is his brain. Which is pretty impressive in size itself. Derek, honey, I get that you're worried about him. I'm fond of him, too, and _I'm_ worried. But there isn't anything you can do. You can't exactly storm the prison, can you? But you _can_ respect his wishes. Do that. And let the team do what it does best. They'll get him out, right? Then you can be there for him, when he's ready. It will be easier for him, if It's already behind him when he sees you."

Her words made sense, much to Morgan's chagrin. He was no longer a part of the team, so he could no longer be a part of the solution. But he _could_ be a friend. And he _would_ be, the moment Reid allowed it.

 _And you're gonna have to allow it, Pretty Boy, right after I show up at Rossi's._

* * *

Morgan was surprised to see a government-issued SUV parked at the base of Rossi's driveway, given Emily's disappointment at not being able to offer Reid security. He pulled up beside it and rolled down his passenger window. When the window of the SUV followed suit, it became clear.

"Anderson! You standing watch here?"

The man inside the SUV smiled at the familiar face. "Hey, Morgan, it's good to see you! You going up?"

"Yeah, thought I'd check in on the Kid and his mom while I'm in town. I brought breakfast….you up for coffee and a donut?" Holding up a paper bag.

Anderson exited the vehicle and walked over to Morgan's window. "I could definitely use the coffee. And I never turn down a donut. You want me to call up and tell him you're here?"

"Sure. Hey, Anderson?"

"Yeah?"

"Does Prentiss know you're doing this?"

Anderson hesitated a beat before shaking his head in the negative. "She just asked me to drive them over. I just…..well, you know."

They both remembered another time he'd been asked to drive one of the team home, and what had happened afterward.

Morgan gave him a long look before nodding. "I do. And thanks. You're a good man, Anderson."

As the other agent pulled out his phone, Morgan made his way up the long, winding driveway leading to Rossi's home, recalling the several prior occasions he'd visited. Each had come at the end of long period of tension, and sometimes of great loss. Despite the fact that Diana Reid had been found, Morgan couldn't help but think this particular visit to Rossi's was also punctuating a period of great loss.

 _But I know you, my brother. And I'm gonna help you find it again._

He pulled under the portico and shut down his vehicle just as the front door swung open. Framed in the morning twilight, Reid looked impossibly thinner than Morgan remembered, his hair long, his face unshaven. Morgan grabbed his packages and made his way up the front steps. Laying the food down just inside the foyer, he stood across from his long-time friend and took stock of him.

 _Definitely skinnier. A little gaunt, maybe. But upright, not bowed or bent._

Morgan's gaze settled on Reid's eyes, searching for a sense of victory, or defeat, for it would dictate his task. But too much else was present in his younger friend's eyes, and he couldn't sort it all out.

 _He's exhausted. Haunted. Older. Sadder. And something else…_

That something else was not in Reid's eyes. It was in his posture. A restraint not brought on by reserve, but by conditioning. It was prison posture. A position of separation from another man, for the purpose of self-preservation. Having recognized it, Morgan was about to abolish it. He closed the distance between them, and pulled Reid into an embrace. It was exactly how they'd left each other, many months ago, and he could only hope it would bring Reid back to that moment, and that acceptance of affection from another man. Morgan felt his friend stiffen, and then relax, and then he felt those long, thin arms tighten across his own back.

As they released, Morgan cuffed Reid by the back of the neck.

"It's good to see you, man."

Reid's smile was small. "Same here."

Morgan indicated the bags on the foyer table. "I brought breakfast."

"I haven't even been to bed yet."

 _Not that I'm looking forward to sleep. If I thought my nightmares were bad before, I can just imagine how they'll be after I nearly choked a woman to death._

"Well, just call it a midnight snack, then. I won't stay too long, anyway. Promised Savannah I'd be there before little Hank's afternoon nap."

Reid's smile broadened, as he led them into Rossi's oversized kitchen.

"How is my namesake?"

Morgan grinned as he put down the bags and pulled out his cell phone. "See for yourself."

He showed Reid a rapid fire string of stills, ending with a couple of shorter videos.

"He's _walking_?"

"Takes after his old man. Kid's a born athlete."

"Wow. Morgan, I'm so sorry I haven't made it out to see you all. It's just been…."

"Kid….Spencer….I know. You were dealing with your mom, and then…."

"Yeah. And then."

Morgan let a few seconds pass before he started unpacking the bags.

"Here, I got a full box of coffee, and I had them throw in a hundred packets of sugar and cream. I didn't know if your mother drinks coffee, so I got some tea and juice, and…"

"Mom's asleep. I think it's best if we leave her alone. She's more comfortable sleeping in the daylight."

Morgan caught Reid's meaning. "She needs to stay up all night, to stand watch."

Reid nodded. "The monsters tend to come out in the dark."

"Does that mean…..is she regressing?"

Reid could only shake his head. "I can't tell. She's been off her meds for days, so maybe it's that. I just…I don't know."

Morgan watched as Reid drew off some coffee from the large container, and proceeded to drink it, sans amendments. Reid caught the raised brow look on his friend's face, and gave a more terse explanation than he'd given JJ.

"This is how I drink it now."

That brought a slow nod from Morgan, who began taking inventory of other ways in which his friend had changed. But all he could really see was the veil between Reid and himself, placed there purposely, to defeat his probe. And he wasn't having it.

"Look, Kid, I can see you don't want to talk about it. It's probably too soon anyway. I just want you to know that, when you're ready, I'm there for you."

Reid looked into his coffee for a few seconds before responding. "I don't know if 'when' is the right word."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I don't know if I'll _ever_ be ready to talk about it. I don't know if I _want_ to. I don't know if I _can_. Ever."

Morgan took a sip of his own coffee and speared a donut.

"I'm gonna take an educated guess that this doesn't have to do with anything that was done to you. I mean, you've told me what you went through as a kid, and you stood up to it. It doesn't get much worse than that."

Reid heard the unstated question. It _didn't_ get much worse than what he'd been through in his youth. Not _much_. But _some_.

Reid answered what Morgan hadn't been able to bring himself to ask. "It wasn't worse."

The older man nodded. "So, then it has to be something _you_ did. Something you _had_ to do." Falling back with ease into his profiler persona.

"I told you, I can't talk about it. I can't…..I can barely _think_ about it. Which is strange, because, I can't think about anything _else_."

Morgan leaned across the counter. "What you did, in there, whatever it was...you did it to survive. That was the only responsibility you had, and you met it. You made sure you could come out the other side of it, and back to your life. Back to your mom. What would have happened to her if you hadn't?"

Answering concretely. "JJ would have taken care of her. She would have found a place for her."

Morgan refrained from rolling his eyes. "Emotionally, Kid. What would have happened to her emotionally? Right? She would have been lost. She needs you, and she needs to know you're okay. Whatever happened inside that prison, you did for your mom."

Reid shook his head. "What if I did it for _me_? What if I was scared, just for _me_? What if I made it impossible to tell the difference between us? What if I became the same as them? What if I still am?"

His distress was palpable, radiating from him like a wave. It resonated with Morgan, and surfaced a deep memory.

"How old are you now?" Thinking better of it. He could adapt his point to his audience. "Scratch that. How many minutes have you been alive?"

Had he not been so intent on helping his troubled friend, Morgan would have smiled to see Reid make the rapid-fire calculation.

 _You're still in there, my man._

"Just under 18,409,000."

"Eighteen million minutes. And how many of those minutes did it take to do whatever it is that's eating at you?"

Altering the drugs had been a snap decision, made in a matter of seconds. Choking Cat hadn't been a decision at all. There had been no premeditation for either. Just the time it had taken to act.

"I don't know. Maybe three minutes?"

"All right, so what …."

"Less than two hundredths of one percent."

Morgan did smile now. Once upon a time Reid's intelligence had seemed like a challenge, a gauntlet thrown down to make him look lesser. Over the years, he'd come to understand that it was just a part of Reid's identity, that it couldn't be shed any more than he could shed his skin. What had once been something wedged between them had since become a part of their bond.

"So, you know where I'm going with this. You've spent all but three minutes of your life becoming and being the man you aspire to. You can't let three minutes….. three minutes of desperation…. turn you into someone else. You can't let them make you _think_ you've turned into someone else."

Reid's gaze upon Morgan was intense, as though he wanted to agree. He _wanted_ to be able to forgive himself. But Morgan could see that he wasn't quite there yet. The stakes were high here. A man Morgan greatly admired, and had come to love, was hurting, deeply. His self-identity was in jeopardy, and Derek Morgan couldn't have that. So he, too, reached deep….into himself, and into his past.

"Listen, Kid. You know what I went through with Buford, right? Not just the arrest. I'm talking about what he did to me when I was a kid."

Reid wasn't about to have his good friend and brother berate himself. "You didn't do anything. It wasn't your fault. You didn't have a choice."

Morgan stared off for a long moment. He was about to reveal something that he'd only barely acknowledged to himself. And _that_ had happened in therapy.

"You're right. I didn't have a choice about what he did to me. I was stupid, I didn't know any better. But….after…..after, he moved on. He found another kid. And, by that time, I _did_ know better. And I didn't say anything. I just kept my mouth shut. I didn't say anything to that other boy, and not to anyone else, either, because I was just so relieved it wasn't _me_."

Reid took it in for a moment, but then protested. "But you were a _kid_ , Morgan. You couldn't be expected to feel any other way."

"I was a kid in danger. You were a man in danger. It's not the age that matters, Kid. It's the danger."

They both caught the irony at the same moment.

"Sorry. It's just a name. I don't really think of you that way."

Reid gave him a small smile. "I'm surprised you didn't name your son Hank 'the Kid' Morgan."

His friend grinned. "Hey, now, that would have been a good idea! It's got a nice sort of 'second baseman' ring to it." He waited for Reid to grin as well. "But, seriously, I mean it. It wasn't just being young that made me do it. It was being scared."

Remembering his own terror, Reid held silent. So Morgan confessed one more thing.

"You remember I spend a year and a half undercover before I came to the BAU, right?"

Reid nodded. That was, essentially, all he knew about it.

"It was a gang infiltration. These were some pretty bad dudes and I got myself in pretty tight with them. It was dicey, a lot of the time, and I had to go along with a bunch of petty stuff, but I managed to avoid most of the physical stuff, _most_ of the time. But, there were a couple…of..."

Morgan's voice had left him, and Reid was immediately solicitous. "You don't have to talk about it."

The older man regrouped. "Yes, I do. Because my little brother is beating up on himself, and I need to help him."

"Morgan…"

"No, Reid, you need to hear this. Maybe I need to say it, I don't know. But….. well, there were a couple of times when I had to…..when I went along with them, just because I knew they would turn on me, they would find me out, if I didn't. They had duped these guys from a rival gang into showing up for a party…but the party was _them_. And they… and...I…"

Morgan's eyes closed on the image that stubbornly refused to leave his brain.

"You were trying to survive. If you hadn't gone along, they might have killed you."

The dark eyes opened again, and settled upon the younger man. "Exactly."

The two exchanged a long look, and then Reid gave just the slightest nod, prompting Morgan to finish his story.

"When I first started with the BAU….I told you I had nightmares then, right?"

Reid nodded.

"Well, I think that's what got them started. It wasn't so much what I was seeing every day, the way these guys the team hunts treat people and kill them. It was that I couldn't help but wonder if I had more in common with them than I wanted to admit. Because I'd treated those couple of gang bangers in a pretty depraved way. But then, I got some good advice. Someone reminded me about the difference between me and them. He said, _"They're_ not _having nightmares. For them, the act brings pleasure and release. For you, it brings agita. Be thankful for agita."_ You know who told me that?"

Reid shook his head.

"Gideon."

The master to Reid's protégé. The voice from his past echoed what Morgan had been trying to tell him. What JJ had tried to tell him, at the prison. What he knew, in his heart, that Hotch would have tried to tell him as well, if only he'd been able. Reid was too tired, too spent, and still too shamed to get there on his own just yet, and maybe not for quite some time to come. But the words did resonate, the advice was sound. He might not be able to follow it in the moment, but he _could_ make a promise.

"I'll try."

Derek Morgan wasn't fool enough to think he could turn around a psychic trauma, like the one suffered by his friend, with just a few words. But he had learned something over the more than four decades of his lifetime. Strength of character was built brick by experiential brick, shaped by relationship, mortared with love.

Reid's character had been hewn in his youth. It would not be bent by what happened in his adulthood. But shaping it, allowing him to incorporate _this_ experiential brick without deforming the structure, was going to require him to stay in relationship. He wasn't going to accomplish this in isolation.

"Can't ask anything more. Listen, you take some time to heal, and get situated with your mom. But don't be off by yourself all the time, all right? Watch out for that wall. We've talked about that before, remember?"

They had, when Gideon died.

"So when JJ invites you to dinner…"

 _What? I'm not ready!_ "Did she say…"

Morgan picked up on the hint of panic. "Relax. I could just see how worried she was. She's not as good at hiding her micro-expressions as she thinks she is. But she also knows you need time. Just don't take too much of it, or you might be getting an earful."

Reid smiled at being reminded of his importance in someone else's life.

"I'll try not to."

"Good." Morgan made a quick check of the time. "I've got to get to the airport. Like I said, I promised Savannah I'd be home this afternoon."

"Give her my love, and Hank, too. Give him a hug from me, okay?"

"I sure will, right after I give him three of my own." Morgan grinned in anticipation. "Hey, you should come out and visit us for a few days. You and I can both play with my little dude. He hasn't got much aim, but he can throw a mean fastball."

Reid smiled. "That makes him better than I am already."

Morgan pulled his younger friend into an embrace. "You've got this. And if you ever forget that, I'll come and remind you. Remember, I've got eyes and ears on you. Between Baby Girl and Blondie, you don't stand a chance."

They pulled apart, and began walking to the door.

"Morgan…..thanks. What you said before…..you didn't have to do that. But…..thanks. It…I think it helped."

Only time would prove it to be true, but Reid's words were enough for now.

"Good, I'm glad. And, for the record, I _did_ have to do that. Because I couldn't let one of the finest men I've ever known beat up on himself without hearing that it's something all of us are tempted to do at one time or another. None of us get out of this life unscathed, Kid. None of us is pure. We're all a collection of our experiences, good and bad. But it's up to us to make sure that we don't let that….what was it, less than two hundredths of one percent?...that we don't let that poison the rest."

Another quick embrace, and he was gone. Reid watched as Morgan pulled away, remembering Morgan's last words. '.. _.don't let that poison the rest.'_

For months, Reid had been bathed in poison. It had surrounded him in nearly every interaction he'd had in prison, he'd absorbed it into his pores, he'd begun to feel it pulsing through his body. But, in the past twenty-four hours, in just the smallest of ways, he'd become reacquainted with purity, reacquainted with friendship. He still had a long, long way to go. But he could feel the poison gradually diluting. He would do as Morgan requested. He would try. He would focus on the good. He would be thankful for the agita.

The poison would always be a part of him. But, maybe one day, it would feel like less than two hundredths of one percent.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Identity**_

 _ **Chapter 4-Spencer and Diana**_

On the heels of Morgan's departure, another vehicle made its way up the driveway at 'Rossi Manor', as their former unit chief had christened the property. Thanks to Anderson's phone call, this visitor was expected as well. He was met at the door by a lanky young man.

"You must be Dr. Reid."

The man was roughly Reid's age, but a good six inches shorter, with a muscular build.

"I am. And you're….?"

The man held out his hand, and answered as Reid shook it.

"Roy Santana. I'm sorry, I believe Ms. Jareau requested a female nurse, but I was the only one available."

Reid squinted his skepticism. "I'm guessing it's more like you were the only one willing to take my mother's case. Am I right?"

 _Don't lie to me. I need to be able to trust you._

Roy was surprised to have been found out, but saw no reason not to admit the truth. It was, after all, more a reflection on the situation, and not the agency.

"All right, yes. I was pulled from another case, because none of the women felt comfortable covering this one. Not after what happened to Cassie."

Although her body had been discovered only yesterday, word had spread throughout the agency after the police had made some inquiries.

Reid gave a slight nod. "I'm sorry about Cassie. She was very good to my mother. And I understand why the others would be afraid. But the people responsible are in custody. There's no more danger."

Roy appreciated the news. "That's good to hear. But I can pretty much handle whatever comes my way, nevertheless."

Reid smiled. _I sure hope that includes the formidable Diana Reid._ He turned, and led Roy into the house.

"Come on up, and I'll show you where she is. She's only just fallen asleep a short time ago. I don't want to wake her, so I'm afraid introductions will have to wait."

"If you don't mind my saying so, you look like you could use some sleep yourself, Dr. Reid. Sorry. It's a professional pitfall, I'm afraid. I see everything with clinical eyes."

"Your eyes are right. I haven't slept at all in a few days."

"Well, then, just show me what I need to know, and then go and get some rest. I'll be all right with your mother. I don't think we'll need you, but if we do, we'll yell."

Reid's brows went up at the ' _we'll_ ', and Roy laughed. "Just kidding. I have a way with Alzheimer's patients. I'll know what to do with her."

"Did they tell you about the…"

"Schizophrenia? Yes. And I was told she's been off her meds for a few days as well. No worries."

Reid didn't exactly know how to live a life with no worries, but he was too tired to argue. He showed Roy around the guest wing, and then they both looked in on Diana.

"Sleeping the sleep of the innocent," observed Roy. "One of the things I've learned about Alzheimer's is that patients lose the bad memories right along with the good."

Reid stared a long moment at the peaceful figure in the bed. "I sure hope so."

Gaining an assurance that Roy would call him if needed, Reid made his way to an adjacent room.

Thanks to his propensity for all night poker games with his cronies, David Rossi had outfitted each of the bedrooms in 'Rossi Manor' with room-darkening shades. Reid lowered them as he stripped down to his underwear. In the shuffle of things, he had no other clothes of his own to wear except the suit he'd had on at the prison, and his mother had been in a similar situation. They'd found a robe hanging in one of the guest bathrooms and made use of it for her. But he would have to make do on his own until his apartment was released by the police.

He pulled back the bedcover and sat on the bed, taken aback by the hotel-quality mattress. Even before his ill-fated trip to Mexico, he'd been sleeping on his sofa, or sitting upright in a chair, afraid to leave his mother's bedside. And ever _since_ Mexico, he'd slept only on a hard cot, or a thin pallet, or even on the concrete shelf in his cell. Just lying down on a soft surface felt like an undeserved luxury.

He closed his eyes, and waited for sleep to come. For anyone in his state of exhaustion, it should have taken only seconds. But those seconds passed. And then minutes. And then his eyes sprang open again, giving up the fight.

He was physically, psychically, spiritually depleted. There was nothing left in him. Nothing left _to_ him. Except. it seemed, a state of hypervigilance.

In a brain less powerful, the observer function would have long since ceased to operate. But Reid's brain _was_ that powerful, and his observer realized two things, and missed a third. It realized that he still didn't feel safe, no matter that Cat and Lyndsey were accounted for and behind bars. It realized that he'd become so acclimated to the prison environment, with its nightly yelling, and screams, and banging on the bars, that his mind couldn't settle in the eerie quiet at Rossi's.

But it missed one crucial thing. It missed the fact that he'd felt unworthy of the bed.

* * *

He must have drifted off at some point, else he wouldn't have been able to startle awake. The unfamiliar environment caught him by surprise, and he had to think a moment to realize where he was. The rapidity of his pulse told him he'd probably been having some sort of nightmare, but its content had already fled from his mind.

Reid reached for his watch on the nightstand. Eleven AM. He'd had maybe three hours of sleep, at a maximum. Add that to the hour or two he'd had on the jet, and he was still at least two days behind. Factor in that he'd probably only gotten a fitful few hours of sleep each night at Milburn, and he was at least a month behind.

 _But who needs to make up a month of nightmares?_

He'd been journaling about them at the prison. Maybe he should continue. Maybe having to find the words to describe his nightmares would help him find the words to sort through the tangled knot of thought that now inhabited his _waking_ hours. It seemed that there was something inside him that was actively resisting being untangled. Thoughts kept presenting themselves to him in rapid succession, never quite brought to fruition before being replaced by another.

The last truly purposeful thought he'd had at Milburn had been about setting Shaw up for having stabbed him. Despite the physical injury he'd given himself, he'd been triumphant at having outwitted his enemy. His subsequent time in isolation had given him the illusion of safety, and that illusion had given him the small bit of psychic space to try to sort through all that had happened. All that might _still_ happen. All that he'd _wished_ would happen. But it had proven too much for his depleted brain to process, and he'd fallen into a daze, until the moment Wilkins had appeared in the doorway of his cell. Thereafter, all semblance of a typical thought process had fled from Reid.

The unexpected encounter with the guard who had knowingly and purposely kept him in a situation of mortal danger had precipitated the fight-or-flight response in the beleaguered genius. He'd been terrified, and then resigned, and then blissfully relieved at the miraculous sight of JJ, and the blessed news of his release, and the nearly forgotten feeling of being held in loving arms. Since then, since leaving Milburn, virtually everything had required him to live in the moment, to move forward without planning, to act without thinking. His solitary processed thought had been about the need to save his mother, however he had to, doing whatever was necessary. It hadn't been cognitive as much as it had been instinctual. Which was why he'd so quickly devolved to a physical act when he'd thought Cat had tricked him into giving the order for Diana's demise.

 _That's why I did what I did. I was acting like an animal. Thank God for JJ._

In the moment, he hadn't even heard her, let alone processed her words. But his brain had recorded the entire interaction with Cat Adams, and had begun to replay it in his mind. JJ had heard Cat tell him she'd gotten pregnant with his seed. She'd seen his reaction, and that Cat had looked too pleased with it. For a few minutes, Cat had bested him, and he'd been infuriated, with both his enemy and with himself. But the one who'd borne the brunt of his initial anger had been JJ, and he'd had to apologize to her.

What he _hadn't_ been able to say...what he hadn't been able to tell her, and what he'd been actively resisting admitting to himself, ever since…. was that, for just a few seconds, for just a solitary moment-out-of-time, he'd wished it to be true. When Cat Adams had told him he'd fathered a child with her, he'd wished it to be true.

He assumed Cat had planned to torture him with it right along, that she'd enjoyed forcing him to conjure an image of himself being further victimized, and humiliated, and that she would add to the humiliation of it by making sure there was at least one witness to her pronouncement. But she couldn't have known she would touch such an open wound in him, a longing unfulfilled. That he'd responded to the idea as he had would remain his secret, a pain too personal to share. Not with his best friend, nor with any therapist to whom the FBI might insist he bare his soul. _That_ much thought was clear.

Giving up on the prospect of sleep, Reid checked his phone, but there were no messages. He hoped that meant the team was too busy wrapping things up with Scratch. Maybe that would mean Hotch could come back. Maybe he would be able to resume that cherished friendship, and receive some much needed advice. Nothing had been the same since they'd lost Hotch. And he so desperately hoped that things could one day be the same. That _something_ could be the same.

He went into the adjoining bathroom and splashed water on his face, actively avoiding looking into the mirror. Then he put his dress shirt and trousers back on and, with them, the scent of Cat Adams. If they were going to be at Rossi's for more than a day, he would have to see about getting another set of clothes. He longed to wash away the stench of his tormentors, and the prisons that housed them. He longed to wash away so much more than that, if only it _could_ be washed away. He longed to be cleansed.

Stepping into the hallway, he was pleased to hear nothing but silence. His mother must still be sleeping. A few doors down, he found Roy sitting in a comfortable chair, reading a book. The nurse looked up at the movement in his peripheral vision.

"Oh, hello, Dr. Reid. I'm surprised to see you up already."

Reid shrugged. "Overtired, I guess." Not feeling a desire to explain further. "Has my mother been up?"

"She stirred a little while ago, but never really awakened. It seems she's a better sleeper than you are."

 _Right now, I'll bet applies to just about anyone and everyone_.

Aloud, Reid told Roy he'd be outside, walking the grounds.

"Absolutely. We'll be fine here." He patted the book. "Mr. Rossi has quite a large library."

"That he does."

* * *

'Rossi Manor' was situated on a full acre of land, no small fete in the high-priced outskirts of the nation's capital. Walking its perimeter, Reid basked in the lush green of the lawn and shrubbery. For months, his gaze had fallen on nothing but concrete and metal, and his body had touched only the harsh texture of cement and steel and barbed wire. The softness of the grass felt welcome against his feet. He'd always done his best thinking as he walked, and he could only hope this sojourn around Rossi's property would help sort out the mess inside his skull.

A sound overhead brought his eyes up the trunk of a tree, where they spied a bright yellow oriole singing from a top branch. He watched as it startled to his presence, and flew off. Above the tree, the sky was the clear, deep blue of late morning.

 _Look how easily he did that. He flew away just because he wanted to._ When _he wanted to._ Why _he wanted to. Precious freedom._

In the beginning, he'd been too stunned to notice the lack of it. He'd been focused on putting one foot in front of the other, on doing whatever he'd been told to do. He'd been focused on not standing out, on not drawing attention, on not becoming a target. Once he'd realized they intended to keep him in the general population, he'd become terrified for his life, a federal agent easy prey among those he and his comrades had put into that godless place.

But eventually, even terror had given way to the oppression of having lost his freedom. He'd felt constricted before, by the pressures of his job, and the evil they dealt with on a daily basis. He'd felt constricted by the stress of dealing with his mother and her illnesses...but none of those things could remotely compare to the asphyxiation of prison life.

In prison, he'd lost freedom of movement, freedom of choice, freedom of speech, even freedom of thought, as his brain had started to succumb to its restricted stimulation. He'd been no longer in control of his actions, nor even of his body. The prison guards had told him when to wake, when to sleep, when to eat, when to speak, when to work, when to bathe. There were times when he'd even had to ask for permission to relieve himself.

 _But that's over now. Now, I'm free. Right?_

Part of the answer was obvious. He was no longer in prison garb. He had just risen on his own, and walked out of Rossi's house, and was standing in the open, his horizon limited only by the plush greenery around him. But there were still things he couldn't do. He couldn't go home. He couldn't abandon the responsibility of his mother. And he might not be able to go back to the FBI, for a host of reasons. Those were the obvious things. But some things were less obvious.

He remembered that moment, just yesterday, when he'd waited for JJ to give him permission to leave the room. Technically, he'd already been freed. But, on some subconscious level, he hadn't been able to accept it. He'd assimilated his prison persona. He was no longer Spencer Reid. He was _Prisoner_ Reid. _Inmate_ Reid.

 _Inmate_. It was what he'd been called most often. Not even Inmate Reid. Just 'inmate'. Like it had only mattered _what_ he was, and not _who_ he was. Like he'd no longer been a 'who', at all. It had been impersonal. None of the life he'd lived before had mattered. Not even the fact that he _had_ lived a life 'before' had mattered. He'd been dehumanized. He'd been no longer a person. He'd become a thing. An object, to be used and abused.

More than the beatings, more than the threats, more than the fear and the isolation, it had been _that_ which had so damaged his soul. In prison, he'd been stripped of everything, including his humanity. In response, he'd become an animal, with animal instincts of preservation and survival, and he'd acted on them. He'd assimilated the ethos of prison, and treated his 'victims' as simply the means to accomplish his own survival.

 _Just like the serial killers the team hunts. Serial killers use their victims to sate a desire, seeing them as no more than a means to an end._

It was how Shaw had treated _him_ , and it had precipitated the murder of Luis Delgado. In their states of deprivation, the inmates had become unable to see the personhood in one another, because they'd lost sight of the personhood within themselves. They'd lost themselves. They might as well have been dead.

It was how _he'd_ begun to feel, although he couldn't have said so at the time. He'd done his best to force his brain to disengage from its usual narrative on his life, because that narrative…and that life….had become too much to bear. Now, his physical freedom restored, his brain demanded the same. It brought all of those realizations forward, all of its pent up understanding of what had happened to him, and was _still_ happening to him, coming at him as a tsunami.

The tangled thoughts began to untangle, and the hideousness of them overwhelmed him. He stopped moving. Stopped looking up. Stopped seeing at all, his vision blurred by tears that were already streaming down his face, even before he realized he'd begun to weep. And, once begun, there was no stopping it. He sank to the ground below him, doubled over in grief. Now that Spencer Reid had become a person once again, he felt the piercing anguish of what had happened to him, and the decimation of his identity.

" _Unlike you, I didn't deserve to be there_ ," he'd told Cat.

That might have been true, in the beginning. But she'd been right about him. By the time he'd done what he'd done, he'd become no different from anyone else. It was true that he _hadn't_ enjoyed it, he _had_ lied to her about that. But he'd poisoned the drugs nonetheless, knowing it would hurt the others, hoping it would preserve his own life.

 _See? Don't you see, Spence?_

It brought him up short. He wiped at his face as he looked around for the owner of the voice. But the lawn was empty. Had he really heard her? It had seemed so real. But it couldn't be. JJ was with the others, hopefully in the process of taking down Scratch.

 _It's made me crazy. Now I'm hearing things._

But part of him knew it wasn't her actual voice he'd heard. It was the words he knew she would say to him, if she'd known what was going on inside his head and heart. Right about now, he needed any wisdom he could get, and JJ had long been a repository of it for him, especially when it came to human relationships. No wonder his brain had conjured her. So he responded.

 _All right. So, what is it I'm supposed to see?_

He'd known her so long and so well…and she, him…..that he could actually create the mental conversation in the words he knew she would use. He could even hear her inflections.

 _You said it yourself. You wanted to preserve your own life. You still cared._

'Animals do that, JJ. It preserves the species. It's instinctual.'

 _Well….all right. But you felt guilty about it, you said so yourself. Do animals regret what they do?_

'Animals don't have a sense of morality. They don't need one. They don't do anything they don't have to do to survive.'

 _Neither did you, Spence. I told you, I would have done the same thing. I would have done whatever it took to come home to my family._

He could tell she didn't understand. What if those other men. the men he'd poisoned, had families, too, waiting at home for them? It wasn't that he hadn't _cared_ about that. It was that he hadn't even _thought_ of it. Because, as he'd just told her, animals didn't have need of morality.

As though she'd heard what he'd been thinking….. _why not, she's in my mind, after all_ ….JJ argued the point.

 _What about your friend, Luis? You cared about him, you tried to save him, right?_

'Of course, he was dying right in front of me, I had to try!'

 _But why was it so important to you to save him? Why did you care?_

'Because he had a life to live, he had a fut…..'

 _Exactly. He had a future. He had a life to live outside prison. He was still a person, even if it was hard to see. And so were you. So ARE you. You related to him, you related to each other, because you were both still in there. It still mattered. HE still mattered. Spence…you still matter. You matter to me, and to my family, and your mom, and the team..._

Suddenly it hit him why she'd been so adamant that he not be in there alone, why she'd reached out to him so many times, and in so many ways, why it had moved _her_ nearly as much as it had moved _him_ , when she'd come to bring him home.

 _It wasn't my being lonely she was afraid of. It wasn't the isolation. It was this. She didn't want me to forget who I was…. Am. She knew that, for as long as she stayed connected, I would be in relationship. That's why she showed me that picture from Henry, and why she wanted me to remember it. She wanted me to remember my life as a person. She knew I might have trouble living it, but she didn't want me to forget._

His observer function knew that JJ probably had no basis for understanding all of those things. Prisoners, apart from their garb, and the deadness of their eyes, didn't look all that different from other people. It was only living the life of a prisoner that taught one how different it was. Which meant that the insight was _his._

He thought about Luis. Wondered about his family, wondered what they'd been told. Wondered if he should reach out to them, or if they might reach out to him. He was thankful that Malcolm's family wouldn't have to receive the same kind of phone call the Delgados had received. Thankful that he'd only harmed, and not killed. Shocked, all over again, that he _had_ harmed. Astounded, once again, at his own behavior. As he reacquainted with himself, he could not reconcile his actions with the person he'd always thought himself to be.

" _I'm afraid this is who I am now_ ," he'd said to JJ. Fearing he'd become someone to be reviled. Someone he, himself, would revile.

 _Logic, Spence!_ JJ's voice was back. _Use your logic! You can't become someone you hate, because the very fact that you hate that version of yourself means that you're not that person._

It almost made him want to smile, to 'hear' her quote logic to him. _Almost_. Instead, the tears returned, streaming quietly this time, as they would do in so many of the days to come, in what he would later come to recognize as an agonizingly slow cleansing of his soul. Maybe he _was_ in there. Maybe he _could_ find himself again. But it wasn't going to happen today, that much he knew. Today would have to be about his mother, and what she needed, and _who_ she needed. Even if he couldn't find himself today, he would have to present some semblance of Spencer to his mother.

As he pushed up to stand, he winced in pain, emanating from the place where he'd stabbed himself.

 _That's funny. I forgot all about it._

Which was the second time his observer failed to tell him the truth. His observer had been aware of it right along. It just hadn't felt like pain…it had felt like penance.

* * *

Diana and Roy were both in the kitchen when Reid entered. She looked up from the cup of tea she'd been resisting drinking.

"Spencer! Where were you?" _I told you not to leave me, ever again._

Her eyes conveyed her worry.

"It's okay, Mom. I was just taking a walk outside."

"Oh. This….man…"

"Roy." The nurse reminded her.

She made a face at him. " _Roy_. Roy says we can't go home. Why can't we go home, Spencer?"

Reid took the seat next to his mother, turning to face her. "My apartment is….. "

Not wanting to remind her that it was a crime scene, not wanting to remind her of whatever horror might have taken place there. Not if she'd already forgotten it. So he stuck with a half truth.

"It's kind of a mess, right now. It needs to be cleaned up before we can go there. But Rossi said we can stay here as long as we need to."

Diana side-eyed the nurse. "Is _he_ staying here, too?"

"Don't be like that, Mom. Roy is here to help us." Trying another tack. "He's here to help _me_ help _you_."

The implication that he would be there seemed to settle her, and she began to drink her tea. Reid studied his mother for signs of reaction to the trauma she'd been through. Other than what she'd shown at the BAU, her memory of their separation, there was nothing obvious. Perhaps she'd already forgotten whatever Lyndsey had done to her. Alzheimers was known to steal short term memory first.

 _Maybe there's an upside to dementia after all._

Had he been able to get inside her head, he would have understood it differently. Diana wasn't forgetful. Not in the moment. She was guarded. The young man who had just entered this strange kitchen looked and sounded like her son. But she could see that he was different. Without being able to say how or why, she just knew.

So she would play along with whatever scheme the young man was up to, biding her time, and waiting. Because she had faith in her son.

She knew Spencer would come back to her, one day.

FINIS

* * *

 _ **A.N. That's it for this one. Given the cliffhanger, it's as far as I can take it and remain relatively 'in canon'. Thanks to all who have read, favorited, reviewed or just quietly enjoyed the various stories attached to this long prison arc. Thanks to the show for making Reid's friendship with JJ an important and visible part of canon!**_

 _ **I'm too impatient to find out what happens next, so I will probably go ahead and step out with a followup without worrying about canon, cliffhanger be damned.**_


End file.
